


Rassilon Returns.

by springburn



Series: Dr Who mini fics and prompts [20]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Hope, Memory, Peace, Story from an illustration, War, lord president, the Doctor as general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2018-11-18 09:51:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11288799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: The Doctor is back on Gallifrey.Civil War is looming.





	1. Rassilon Returns.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece as a direct response to this picture. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> It was posted on tumblr by @khaoschilde from an original art piece by @rachaelstott and it just completely fired my imagination. 
> 
> The story is set after Heaven Sent/Hell Bent but before the start of Season Ten. 
> 
> A couple of small notes....
> 
> A shurikan is a ninja style metal throwing wheel, usually barbed or sharp like a riding spur.
> 
> The list of companions is obviously not complete. I deliberately chose the ones that travelled with the Doctors the longest and are the best known. Although of course he remembers every single one. (Susan is absent as she wasn't strictly speaking a companion, she was his granddaughter, rather than someone he'd picked up along the way).
> 
> The ending is left ambiguous with the idea that I may continue with the story at a later date. But as it is, it stands alone.
> 
> I wrote it fairly quickly and without much drafting, so I hope there aren't too many mistakes!  
> I also hope you can all invisage the picture in your minds whilst you read the story, it's a powerful image!!

THE RETURN OF RASSILON.

The Doctor stood in silence, staring out over the vast orange plains below him, from his high vantage point in the centre of the citadel. 

......... _So it had come to this_..........

He ought to have known. 

Anticipated these events. 

Always his weakness. 

Thinking people better than they actually were. Crediting them with more intelligence than they really possessed. 

His own compassion his downfall. Isn't that what Davros told him? 

Mercy for a fellow being? 

_Always._

No one beyond redemption. No matter how corrupt, how hateful, how evil.....everyone has at least one chance of being saved.......

 _Rassilon returning_. 

Bringing with him an army. 

But who was he, The Doctor, to decide who should live and who should die? 

Even when the loss of one life might save thousands. 

At first he'd pointedly ignored the frantic messages. 

Eventually, the decision had been taken from him. As the pleas for help from a threatened populace became more and more desperate. 

The Tardis. 

His conscience. 

She always took him where he needed to go. 

No negotiation this time. 

oOo 

Moving to the large conference table, he drew back a chair, seating himself with a heavy sigh. 

A young man entered behind him, quietly. 

An esquire. 

Bowing low. 

_"My Lord President?"_

The Doctor did not turn or rise. Remaining seated with his eyes closed. 

"Your Captains are waiting, Sir." 

The pale lids opened slowly, revealing two pools of liquid turquoise blue. Red rimmed, sorrowful. 

The clear intensity of that gaze made the young page quail. 

Leaning into the straight, high backed chair, his master gave a slight smile. 

" _My Captains_....." He echoed. 

The Timelord's hands strayed up to the newly shaven sides of his head, fingering the symbols of his home world which had been cut into the stubble there. 

A pre-battle initiation rite to which he'd acquiesced only begrudgingly. Could have been worse, he reasoned, could have been a bloody tattoo! 

Brushing across the ear and down to the left cheek.  
Touching his recent disfigurement, healed now but still visible. 

A mark of a small battle fought. 

His advisors told him he was foolish to agree to the private meeting. 

Rassilon was not to be trusted they warned. 

But he _HAD_ to try, to see if all this madness could be avoided. 

In vain.....

Eyes narrowed against the wind blown, stinging ochre sand. 

Whistling as it flew, the whirling Shurikan, concealed deftly in a gloved hand, aimed at the jugular, but missing its mark. 

Stumbling back, The Doctor cried out, cheek sliced open. His laughing opponent melting into the ether with a touch to the transporter on his wrist.  
Ploy failed but a statement made. 

Now, the cross shaped scar, a badge of honour, carried by an unarmed man who faced down the challenge of his exiled foe, alone.

The gauntlet thrown down. 

Civil War seemed inevitable.

Those Gallifreyans who saw The Doctor as their saviour.......a hero.......and those who did not. 

oOo

His youthful servant poured him a libation, ceremonial, which he accepted and drank down in one swallow. 

The warmth burned his throat, coursed through his veins. Duel hearts pumping wildly. 

Adrenaline fuelled. 

Standing again, preparing to take part in yet another ancient, time honoured ritual. 

Bringing forward the armour of the elite of Gallifrey.

Made to fit the contours of the body; the symbols upon it denoting his exalted rank. 

Acting as batman, the boy strapped the moulded carapace into place. A wince as the buckles were tightened around his torso. Forcing his breath to be held until the belts were tied.  
It felt like a strait jacket. 

The next pieces were presented to him, with a reverential nod of the head. 

Holding first one arm then the other away from his body in turn as each vambrace was fastened. 

Ready. 

And yet not. 

The man of peace goes to war. 

The oncoming storm. 

Crossing to the window The Timelord gazed out. 

Far below him he could see the glint of light on many weapons. Row upon row. 

Massed ranks. 

Symbol painted pennants billowing in the dry wind. 

The servant returned with a Gallifreyan blaster side arm, and other assorted weapons. 

Standing aside, waiting patiently to fasten the ammunition belt to the Lord President's narrow waist. 

With the merest flick of his eyes, the Doctor made the young rake step back. 

"I don't carry weapons!" He stated, firmly. 

"But my Lord........" 

The eyes that settled on the youthful face were soft, kindly. 

"Take them away." He said quietly. "I've seen enough death, destruction and killing in my lifetimes to fill the pages of the thickest tome your imagination can conjure. Bigger than all the books in Gallifrey's vast libraries. I will not bear arms against my own people." 

"But Doctor....this war is a just one......." The boy exclaimed. 

He was taken aback by his Lord's sudden outburst of laughter. Silver head thrown back, mouth wide, teeth bared, but a tear in the corner of his eye, which coursed down his face. 

"How often have I heard _that_?!" He chuckled. "So many times. So much righteousness." 

He turned to the teenager, taking him gently by the shoulders, the pressure from those long fingers digging into the flesh under the tabard he wore. 

"Throughout the Universe, in all the years of my travels, I have heard those words echoing through time and space....." His voice became wistful. Distant and sad. The eyes that held the boy's, blurring and swimming as he watched, riveted, unable to tear his gaze away. 

".......a person who is willing to fight for what he believes in, is _always_ in the right. Even if his adversary does not share his beliefs. How easy it is to say, _'I am right!_ '.  
Such hatred, such animosity, fired at those who happen to be a different colour, a different creed....."

He began to pace the floor, speaking as he did so with deep conviction, his expressive hands emphasising his words deliberately. 

".......those whose sexuality is different from our own, those whose belief system or politics does not tally with ours. The poor and disenfranchised against the rich and powerful. The young and idealistic against the old and staid. Those who are sick......railing against those who are strong. Slaves turning on their Masters, I've seen it all.....believe me....." The Doctor regarded the young man from beneath his impressive eyebrows. ".........what's your name son?" 

"Galien, Sir......" 

".......believe me _Galien_.......more death.....more destruction......more pain and suffering than most would see in a hundred lifetimes.......and now I stand here......dressed in the garb of a General of Gallifrey.....and I'm supposed to lead more hapless men to their deaths in a pointless battle........"

"But Rassilon is evil My Lord.......he _must_ be stopped......he's raised an army......he has burnt towns and villages......slaughtered innocent citizens, he is cruel.......everyone is afraid." 

The Doctor placed his fingers on the sill, his head bowed as if under a great weight. 

"And fear is what drives us all........."  
".........they made me the President of Earth......did you know that?"  
He whispered, his tone hushed. 

"No, My Lord.....I didn't know that.....they must place great trust in you too......" 

Again the Timelord laughed almost manically. 

"The Doctor. Peacemaker. Negotiator. Saviour. _Messiah_. If only they knew......" 

"Knew what....?" The squire moved closer. 

"......knew how many had sacrificed themselves in my name. How heavily it hangs upon me.....you see....Galien......I enthuse them, make them feel strong......invincible.....I fire them up, make them reckless......introduce them to danger.......fashion them into my infantry.....my foot soldiers.....they fight for me, or for _love_ of me.....in my name......and they die. Just as surely as if I were a God......the great and omnipotent Timelord......all will march into the fray under the foolish notion they are dying for a cause, and that the cause is good.......they sacrifice themselves for that noble principle." 

"I would gladly lay down my life to save my home.....my family......the planet I love." Said the youth earnestly. 

Large hands held smaller ones, gripping tight.

"You, and all those others out there......" He waved a hand towards the window. "Why is it that no one is ever prepared to talk? To listen? To compromise?" 

"This 'Earth'.....it must mean a great deal to you?" Suggested the page thoughtfully.

"I see it as a second home. I have found the majority of its people to be generous, kind, loyal and brave. The spirit of community is still strong. Their life spans are woefully short of course, I have lived through many centuries of their history.  
I have toiled and farmed, fought and loved amongst them.  
Roman, Celt, Egyptian, Norse, Saxon, Norman...... through many centuries and hundreds of lifetimes of their people, although only a mere few of mine. I have met and talked with the greatest and worst of them, the brightest, the most inquiring minds.  
The human race are still like children, compared to us........just learning to crawl, to walk and talk and think.....they make mistakes.....but like most species, our own included, they don't always learn from them.....they repeat the same ones over and over again......I have tried my best to hold to back the tide that would threaten to engulf them." 

"And now you do the same here.......for your own people....... _Lord President_.....what will you do?" 

The eyes of the youngster were fearful, the lip trembling with emotion. 

"I will walk out there. Face him. Draw my line in the sand. Just as I always have." 

The young man reached for the Presidential hand, raising it to his lips. 

"You will not stand at the head of the Army? You will do it alone?" 

"As I often have, yes."

_"Unarmed?"_

"Always!"

" _Afraid_?"

"Never!" 

"Then I pray you'll succeed, that you will save us all."

The boy bowed low, backing away. 

"Leave me now Galien, go back to your family. Your work here is done. I need a few moments alone, to prepare myself." 

"My Lord President!" 

oOo

Through the window, the Timelord gazed down onto the massed battalions below. Heaving a deep sigh. 

Memories filtered into his mind. Names, like leaves on the wind. 

His lips moved as he recited them.

 _"Barbara. Ian. Polly. Ben. Jamie. Victoria. Zoe. Jo. Sarah-Jane. Leela. Romana. Adric. Nyssa. Tegan. Peri. Mel. Ace. Grace. Rose......ah......Rose..._.. " He smiled to himself gently. 

".... _.Jack. Mickey. Martha. Donna. Amy. Rory_......." Tears began to fall. 

"River.......my dear one........how I miss you........and Clara.....my Clara.......all gone......." 

Sadly, he turned away. 

The tears remained. 

"I remember you all." He whispered. "Every brave companion, every friend, every love, they burn brightly within me." 

He placed a fist against his breastplate. Holding it there for a moment. 

_"Well_!" He barked, to the vacant room. " Let's get this over with......" 

 

Fin.


	2. Return to the Battlefield.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor is now on a different field of War. 
> 
> He is transported back to the events on Gallifrey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece is set some time after the first chapter. The first is set at the end of season 9, this one at the end of season 10 and Twice Upon a Time. 
> 
> It is a contrasting piece. A comparison of battlefields. A essay in the futility of war. 
> 
> A brave young man on Gallifrey, brave young men in Flanders. 
> 
> The Doctor has just returned to WWI to return Lethbridge-Stewart to his correct timeline (the moment of his death) as promised to the Testimony. 
> 
> He is thinking back to the events of the first chapter. 
> 
> He knows his end is not far away. 
> 
> It is also after the first Doctor's Tardis has dematerialised, after he's been visited by the glass versions of Clara, Nardole and Bill, who have obviously all died, in one way or another, so he's now entirely alone. 
> 
> This second part was also prompted by a picture, as was the first, which I give below .........it was posted by @upsidedown-soufflé on tumblr.

CHAPTER TWO. 

RETURN TO THE BATTLEFIELD.

Seated on an old upturned ammunition crate.

They could neither see him nor hear him, through the Perception Filter. 

Merely an observer now. Physically removed from this time frame. His promise fulfilled. 

Eyes closed, head thrown back. 

A deep breath in.....held......then let go as a long flow of air through the lips. 

Another.

How extremely clever he had been. 

Had he not felt so utterly desolate at this moment, he would be smugly congratulating himself on his ingenuity.  
A life saved.

Captain Lethbridge-Stewart. 

Returned to his correct moment in time. Not to die, but to go on living. 

Not for him the vicious sting of a Hun bullet. He would survive to walk down that quiet country lane, heading home to Cromer on leave, to be greeted by his wife and his two young boys. 

Right now The Doctor felt neither pleased with himself nor cock-a-hoop. 

What he felt was overwhelmingly, dreadfully tired. 

So he attempted to shut himself off, as he sometimes did, resting his troubled mind, a form of transcendental meditation.  
Something he usually performed seated cross legged on the top of the Tardis, where he could feel the calming rhythm of the Universe. 

Not today.

Christmas Day 1914. 

But needs must! 

Removing himself from this dreadful place. 

Folding in on himself. Travelling into his own mind.

Listening to nothing except the beat of his twin hearts. 

Into his nostrils filtered the acrid smoke from the little braziers. Lit by the soldiers in their trenches, to keep out the bitter cold.  
Burning wood with a hint of decay. The dank smell of winter, bright flames bringing forlorn hope to those so wholly surrounded by death and destruction.  
Snatches of a Christmas carol borne on the wind.......

 _" Stille Nacht! Heilige Nacht!_  
_Alles schläft; einsam wacht......"_

 

It seemed to him then, that he was falling, not down, but upwards. Transported almost against his will. 

Flailing helpless in his minds eye. 

Through clouds and mist, into the blackness of space. 

Whirling, tumbling....until he came to rest with a bone jarring jolt. 

Even before his eyes opened he knew where he was, long before the veil over his sight lifted. 

Gallifrey. 

He could sense it. 

A tang in the air that he experienced nowhere else. Sniffing, filling his lungs with it. 

The heady scent of home. 

Nothing smelled quite like it, no matter where in the universe he travelled. Hundreds of thousands of worlds. Millions of Light Years. Many lifetimes.  
Each new place carried a distinct scent. A unique signature. 

Be it a sharp citrus, or heady sandalwood, salt brine or sickly rubbery bitterness.  
The aroma of a certain Spring perhaps, on one of his many visits to Earth, that sense of new beginnings, a reawakening to consciousness after months of hibernation.  
Or hints of metal in the ancient Venusian sunrise. Tasted on the tongue.  
Maybe the sulphurous methane wafts which clung to his clothes on Mondas. 

Flavours of the exotic. Of the Far Far Away.

But nothing like Gallifrey. 

The sweet dryness, the almost turmeric aridity of the orange sand. 

Inside the citadel the air was singularly cool and fragrant. Lingering on the palate and calming the soul. 

A protracted sigh left him, one of the deepest longing. 

The Timelord opened his eyes. 

He could see it all, stretched before him. 

Almost as a dream. Everything that happened that fateful day. 

Standing at the head of vast ranks of soldiers. Not a place he was ever accustomed to be, not somewhere he felt in any way at ease. 

In front of him stood Rassilon. 

Irascible. Armoured. Ready. 

Behind, his own motley battalions arrayed. Bristling with weaponry, yet lacking in training and discipline, shuffling in their uneasiness, their eyes shifting from one to the other nervously. 

Facing the imposing presence, the determined mien of The Doctor arrayed as Lord High President. 

Clothed in full Gallifreyan battledress. 

Calm and detached. Eyes narrowed. Sure of himself. 

The wind whipped at his cloak. Rippling it out behind him like crimson wings. Ruffling his steel grey hair. 

Fine silt stung against his skin as it swirled into little eddies around his knees, rising up as a small funnelled vortex, before vanishing as quickly as it came. 

Only a line in the tangerine soil at his feet separated these two protagonists, drawn with the heel of The Timelord's booted foot. 

Unarmed, as always. 

Unafraid. 

His eyes hawklike beneath the fearsome furrowed brows. Squinting impassively at his opponent. 

The cold stare he received in return was piercing. Heavy with undisguised contempt. 

"Standing before me again.....unarmed? Is there no depth to your bravado _My Lord President_?" The words heavy with sarcasm.

Silence. 

"Or are you just recklessly foolish?" He continued, with a curl of a smile. "Considering what you received for your pains on the last occasion....." 

The Doctor raised a hand to his right cheek slowly. Fingering the cross shaped scar there. Thoughtful for a moment, before straightening himself to his full height.

"I stand here before your mercenary force, as always, without a weapon. To ask you, Rassilon......to implore you.....  
Give up this folly. Leave now.....disperse your army, before hundreds of our people.... _your people_....die needlessly." 

His tone was quiet and measured, even tempered, spoken without malice or force. The reply however was harsh, accompanied by a derisive scoff. 

"So righteous! Yet you hold your position through usurpation. _I_ am the one true Overlord. You are nothing but a thief and a renegade. A traveller who meddles in the affairs of others. By what right do you demand of me to give up my claim?" 

"I do not demand. I request. You have made endless mischief here. You have turned father against son. Brother against brother. Neighbours who have lived perfectly happily side by side for generations, are now at odds. The people of Gallifrey have had enough of war. They cry out for peace. How can you justify such wanton destruction? Homes burned, lives ruined or taken.....for what? Your own ruthless quest for power.  
You would rule over them with an iron fist, keeping them down, removing freedoms, imposing draconian laws, enslaving those with whom you disagree....or who dare to stand up to your tyranny. Trampling the democratic rights of the citizens of this planet. Taking Gallifrey backwards by thousands of years. How can I stand aside and watch you do that to the place I love, that I still call home? And do nothing?" 

Mocking laughter rent the air. 

"What a hypocrite you are Doctor! The Timelord who interferes at every opportunity. The man who stole a tardis and ran away. What care did you have for your home world then? Instead of staying, fighting....you chose to leave the weak to their fate....never looking back.  
You are responsible for more destruction, more death and misery throughout the Universe than I could be in a hundred lifetimes. Yet you stand there, expounding ideals of peace and prosperity! Ha! It's a joke." 

"What I did, I did out of fear. It was wrong. I should have stayed. But that was then, this is now. I have learned. I am not a great leader. I'm an idiot. But I do my best. I will not allow you to be the cause of another war here, not if I can prevent it. Rassilon. Please. Stand down your army! Let us sit down and talk.  
Just you and I.  
Stop this madness before it's too late." 

"The madness will end when you and your rag tag rabble of supporters are dead and buried. When the rightful Lord of Gallifrey sits once more on the throne of office. Omnipotent as he once was.  
I'll not bandy idle words with you!  
Before this day is over you will bow the knee before me and beg for my mercy." 

From somewhere behind the Doctor there was a slight scuffle. 

Through the assembled ranks burst a young man. A cry went up. 

Galien. 

The pale blue eyes blazed with the unquenchable fire of youth. Cheeks wet with hot tears of anger. 

His fervour made him bold. 

Before either Timelord General could stop him, he levelled a weapon, firing straight at the centre of Rassilon's forehead. 

_"GALIEN!! NO!!"_

The Doctor surged forward with a yell. 

Too late. 

The gun was ancient. Almost a museum piece. 

Faulty. 

Goodness knows from whence he'd procured it. 

As Rassilon crumpled and fell with a helpless gasp, so the lad did too. Caught in the throat by the backfire. 

It was clear both victims were damaged beyond the power of regeneration. 

Whilst the ex-president was virtually ignored in the confusion that followed, a throng gathered around the young rake, anguished faces looking sorrowfully down upon him. 

Forcing the crowd apart. Kneeling in the dirt at his side, the Timelord......one arm slipping under, supporting the neck. Watching helpless as bubbling bright crimson blood flowed freely. 

"Galien! You fool....why did you do it?" 

Only a rattling, glottal sound answered him. Bright blue eyes opening slowly, painfully, staring up into the face of his Master. 

Whispered words, forced out through clenched teeth. 

"I did it for Gallifrey. For you. For my family, for all the other families......he would never have listened to reason....never.....hundreds would have died......I HAD to do it......please forgive me My Lord President....." 

"Oh Galien! All your lives were before you.....so much promise......and it's all my fault....."

Throwing back his head he gave an anguished cry. 

"......always losing.......always they sacrifice themselves.......for me.....why? I'm so sick of losing." 

A voice as thin as a reed hissed to him. 

"No. You are not losing. Not this time, Doctor. This time you win. Gallifrey wins. Our people will be allowed to flourish. I'm only sad I won't be there to witness it....."

With a final deep sigh, the boy expired. Sinking down in the embrace of his beloved Lord. 

Bowed over him, The Doctor wept. 

Whilst all around him the mercenary soldiers began to dissipate, murmuring amongst themselves.  
Dropping their weapons and dispersing. Their heart for the fight was never really there. Whipped into a frenzy by the zeal of Rassilon. 

His voice a cancerous whisper in their ears. Making him so easy to follow. So much had he promised them.

All lies. 

Now he was gone they were rudderless. Nothing more than a band of disaffected, leaderless sheep.

Cheers rang out. Cries of gratitude. 

Victory with barely a shot being fired. 

_'Thank the Gods_ ' they sang. 

The young man's body was lifted up and borne away, to the strains of a hymn to the fallen. 

Filtering on the wind, before being lost among the burnt ochre of the rocks around as they moved away......the song seemed to drift and blur, the citrus oranges fading to brown and grey......

 _"Silent night, holy night,_  
_All is calm, all is bright....."_

With a protracted gasp The Doctor opened his eyes. 

Was it possible he'd been dreaming? 

Lost completely in his own thoughts......

 

......Still seated on his upturned crate. 

It had begun to snow, tiny flakes drifting down all around him. Settling momentarily on the black of his tattered coat, before melting into the fabric to be lost forever. 

Drawing up his collar, the Timelord hunched himself against the bitter chill. 

Raising his head just enough to take in the vista still laid out before him. 

A nameless lonely field. 

Somewhere not far from the once pretty town of Ypres. Known colloquially amongst the men who served here as 'Wipers'. 

Blasted tree stumps, standing jagged and blackened like rotten teeth as far as the eye could see. 

The land pock marked with countless shell holes. Craters which filled with fetid water after every fresh rain or snow fall.  
It was said that the boom of the mighty guns could be heard as far as Blighty. A distant thundering which made the stoutest heart quail.  
Trenches zigzagged across the landscape below his feet. Behind their protective walls the wretched infantry cowered.  
Doing their best to keep up morale.  
From time to time a match would flare, held protectively in the clasped hands, illuminating the worn face of the striker for a brief moment.  
Held to the end of the stub of a gasper. 

Suck, suck, puff. 

A smoky cloud. The tiny glimmer at the fag end would light as the smoker took a drag, showing perhaps an inch of nose or a glimpse of chin. 

The cold here was bone numbing. 

These infantrymen's lives hanging almost constantly in the balance. 

Surrounded by a sea of grey mud. 

Broken only by coils of jagged barbed wire in No Man's Land. 

Just for this short time, the guns were silent. An unwritten truce that would never happen again. 

Precious minutes. When two opposing sides just decided.......

...... _no more_. 

Even the rats who scurried along the lines wondered why so quiet. 

Grown fat feasting on human flesh. 

Who were they to be choosy? 

A meal was a meal. 

Occasionally a full corpse or a body part buried some weeks previously would be uncovered by a newly fallen mortar.

The smell was something indescribable. 

Putrefaction. 

The sappers spoke of a gnarled and bony hand which stuck out at an angle in one corner of the trench wall. Tommies would shake it as they passed up and down, to and from the line.  
It became a badge of luck. An omen. 

Until that part of the rampart was obliterated by a particularly violent shell attack. 

The living may have avoided being nibbled by rodents, but instead they were eaten alive by lice.  
In the very seams of their clothing. 

Unwashed, dirty clothes, worn by unwashed, dirty men.

To amuse themselves of a quiet evening, when not letter writing or sharing a tot of military issue rum, the soldiers would run the flame of a candle or match along the stitching of their uniforms to incinerate their unwanted parasites. 

Such is the glory of war.....

.....young boys straight off the playing fields, thrown into the field of battle. 

These men were just like Galien. 

Idealistic and full of hope.

 

......so that was it......

......it was over.........

Clara had returned to Gallifrey, the long way round. Back to her appointment with the Raven.  
Dead and gone. 

The Extraction Chamber from whence he'd foolishly attempted to rescue her, closed off forever.

Nardole too, was no more. 

Floor by floor the Mondasian cybermen came, conquering all in their path, until finally reaching the Solar Farm to which the survivors fled. He perished heroically, protecting those he'd promised The Doctor faithfully to defend. To the last. 

Yet another field of battle. 

And Bill......brave, wonderful Bill, so open, a mind so strong that even cyber conversion couldn't destroy her essence......so etched on his hearts, only remaining to him now as a fallen tear. 

His dear friends. All now made of glass. 

Each one part of the Testimony. 

Just the sum of their collective memories remaining.....

The Timelord sighed, gave a slight smile as his thoughts faded.....

.....every memory a fond one, yet exquisitely painful when recalling them. 

And what of the mighty Timelord himself? 

Whose memories would fill more pages than all of them put together? 

Well, he still burned in the centre of everything, surrounded by the fires of a hundred stars and the ghosts of the ones he once loved. 

But not for much longer. 

It was his time.

Time to let go. 

The Tardis waited patiently. 

Standing sentinel at the edge of the ridge above and behind where he'd been sitting. Silent, almost menacing. Frowning down upon him, before giving an ominous clang. 

Alone now, as his predecessor had long gone. 

Fulfilling the destiny which awaited him, just as it did for this, his latest incarnation. 

With one final look about him, he rose slowly to his feet. Satisfied. 

The men were making their way back to their own trenches now, soon they would be waging all out war with a vengeance once again. But the serene moment would not be forgotten. It had been recorded for all time. 

Tattered jacket pulled together around him, in a fruitless attempt to keep out the chill. 

Cuffs flapping, silver hair ruffled by the breeze. Little flakes of snow barely noticeable amongst its steely curls. 

_'Time to leave the battlefield Doctor'._

Step down and let a new version of yourself continue the fight. 

It would never end of course, there would always be another conflict. 

Whatever happened next.....and there would undoubtedly be pain he reasoned logically.....regeneration was a death after all, this present self would cease to be.......every cell dying before renewing.....

......whatever legacy he left behind....

He was not afraid to leave. Not anymore. He'd tried to be a good man. Do it right. 

Always the words would stay with him.....throughout all the regenerations to come. 

Laugh hard.....

Run fast......

Be kind. 

 

Fin.


End file.
